Anderson reflects on their meeting, in 1992, at a music festival in Munich put on by John Zorn. "I was surprised he didn't have an English accent," Anderson writes. "For some reason I thought the Velvet Underground were British, and I had only a vague idea what they did. (I know, I know.) I was from a different world." She describes how they came to be friends, meeting up a few months later at an engineering convention, which turned into a date and more:

Lou and I played music together, became best friends and then soul mates, traveled, listened to and criticized each other's work, studied things together (butterfly hunting, meditation, kayaking). We made up ridiculous jokes; stopped smoking 20 times; fought; learned to hold our breath underwater; went to Africa; sang opera in elevators; made friends with unlikely people; followed each other on tour when we could; got a sweet piano-playing dog; shared a house that was separate from our own places; protected and loved each other. We were always seeing a lot of art and music and plays and shows, and I watched as he loved and appreciated other artists and musicians. He was always so generous. He knew how hard it was to do. We loved our life in the West Village and our friends; and in all, we did the best we could do... And somehow, for 21 years, we tangled our minds and hearts together.

Towards the end of the piece, Anderson describes Reed's various illnesses over the past few years, including "nasty side effects" from hepatitis C treatments, liver cancer, and diabetes, and how he never gave up fighting. "He didn't give up until the last half-hour of his life, when he suddenly accepted it—all at once and completely," Anderson wrote. "Even though he was extremely weak, he insisted on going out into the bright morning light."

She continued:

As meditators, we had prepared for this – how to move the energy up from the belly and into the heart and out through the head. I have never seen an expression as full of wonder as Lou's as he died. His hands were doing the water-flowing 21-form of tai chi. His eyes were wide open. I was holding in my arms the person I loved the most in the world, and talking to him as he died. His heart stopped. He wasn't afraid. I had gotten to walk with him to the end of the world. Life – so beautiful, painful and dazzling – does not get better than that. And death? I believe that the purpose of death is the release of love.

At the moment, I have only the greatest happiness and I am so proud of the way he lived and died, of his incredible power and grace.

I'm sure he will come to me in my dreams and will seem to be alive again. And I am suddenly standing here by myself stunned and grateful. How strange, exciting and miraculous that we can change each other so much, love each other so much through our words and music and our real lives.